


Except Sunday

by Venivincere



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Routine is discipline, discipline is strength.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Except Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Reposoir.
> 
> Posted on April 13, 2008 to Skyehawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=17292

At precisely four AM every morning (except Sundays) Sanada wakes, takes a piss, and descends to the dojo. In the damp predawn air he pulls on his hakama. He spends twenty minutes warming up, then sets up and cuts down ten straw bundles, one after the other, until his muscles are loose and strong and perfectly honed. Then he steps behind the shoji and spreads his paper on the floor, lines up his brushes and his ink, and practices his brushstrokes until his concentration is perfectly honed. He showers and dresses in a clean uniform his mother sets out for him. He eats breakfast: soup, fish his mother serves him on a wooden board, salad. He folds his regular jersey into his bag, and at precisely 6:45 AM leaves his house for Rikkai's locker room.  
  
Sanada believes in routine, which is why, after hanging his school uniform in his locker, he takes his Babolat out to the courts and shouts "30 laps!" every morning, without fail. And without fail, he leads the pack through each of them. He assigns swing drills to the freshmen and practice drills to the rest of the team; he organizes matches with the regulars and plays with all his strength until it's time to go to class.  
  
In class, he pays strict attention. If he learns his lessons immediately, he won't need to take the time to learn them later. He does his homework during lunch, and when classes end for the day, he goes straight to the locker room and runs as tight a practice as he does in the morning, no matter how loud the regulars grumble. He is the last in the shower, the last to dress, the last to leave; he turns out the lights and turns the key, and makes his way home for supper and an early bed.  
  
Routine is discipline, discipline is strength. Being fourteen and not quite yet a man, he needs as much strength as he can muster to keep himself together, to guide his team to Nationals for one more year.  
  
Yukimura returns to him on a Sunday, pale and blinking on his doorstep. Sanada stares for a long, unmeasured time and lets the sight sink into him, suffuse him with something that takes the strength out of his arms and makes his knees shake. He pulls himself together and leads Yukimura through the house into the garden behind. His mother brings them tea and they lay beneath the cherry blossoms and drink each other in, instead. Here, Sanada is just a boy: a boy weak with desire, his greatest strength between his legs. He is a boy unaware of time, forgetful of responsibility. He is a boy in love.  
  
It's only for a day, Sanada thinks, as he leans into Yukimura and lifts his lips with his own. It's only for a day, and that's OK. Even Atlas shrugged. 


End file.
